


Don't be surprised if they don't buy your lies

by DoctorTooStrange



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Drabble, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 21:24:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8594335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTooStrange/pseuds/DoctorTooStrange
Summary: Holtz has a secret and Erin is determined to figure it out.





	

Holtzmann is always covered in bruises. They all are, Erin reassures herself when she catches a glimpse of one under the hem of a crop top while Holtz dances towards a pair of pliers. They fight ghosts for a living, bruises are in the job description. 

But something about this bruise is stuck in Erin’s craw. Maybe it’s the way the purple-green of it mars Holtz’s smooth side peeking out from behind dirty overalls, or the fact that Erin doesn’t remember Holtz going down during their most recent bust. 

Erin starts to watch Holtz during busts, counting the bruises she will likely have, even going so far as to keep a tally at her desk. Somehow, the numbers never match. Holtz always has more bruises than are strictly expected based on the number of bust-based injuries she accrues. Erin is so obsessed with Holtz’s bust-based injury statistics that she fails to notice as her own increase significantly. 

Holtzmann pretends not to notice the extra attention she's receiving from the brunette, but who is she to scorn a few extra admiring glances from the object of her desire when she reaches for something on a high shelf? 

Erin’s curiosity only increases when they all move into the newly renovated firehouse. Every Tuesday, Holtzmann disappears with a duffel bag. Erin, her concern peaked, makes every excuse to be casually reading a book late into the night in the common living room with a cup of tea. Every Tuesday, Patty and Abby exchange knowing looks and casual bets as they make their way to their own bedrooms long before Holtz's return. Holtz always reappears late, looking exhausted, failing to notice Erin’s lack of progress on whatever book she was pretending to read. 

One Wednesday morning, Holtz reaches up to grab a bucket of screws off of a top shelf in the laboratory revealing a livid new bruise underneath the bottom edge of her ragged ”one of the boys” t-shirt. 

“Oh my God, Holtz! That bruise looks fresh! What happened?” Erin exclaimed, months of pent-up questions bubbling out of her. 

“What?” Holtzmann spins to face Erin self-conciously pulling down her shirt. “Oh, this is nothing.” She pulls up her shirt to reveal the nasty looking bruise across her hip bones. “Just tripped over something in the lab last night. I’ll put some peas on it later.” Holtzmann turns non-chalantly back to the task at hand, smiling at the glazed-over look in the physicists eyes at just a flash of the blonde's taut stomach. 

“Holtz, you know you can tell me anything right? If you’re in a situation with someone, you can talk to me. We can figure it out together. If you’re in a relationship that’s not healthy, I’m here for you. ” Erin continues, undeterred, having prepared this speech over weeks of sitting in the living room assuming the worst about Holtz’s nighttime escapades, the worst being Holtz in a relationship with someone other than Erin Gilbert. 

Holtz grins at full voltage “Don’t worry about it, sweet cheeks. I’ll be sure to let you know if I have any bruises that I haven’t properly earned.” She winks seductively at Erin, who blushes, trying to quell her racing heart. 

If Erin’s curiosity was peaked before, it is raging now. Every Tuesday night, she tries to read a book as she imagines what Holtz could possibly be carrying in that duffel bag and who she could possibly be seeing that would result in new bruises each week. Erin has more hypotheses than she can count, some more distracting than others. Finally, Erin’s whole week from Tuesday to Tuesday is consumed by thoughts of Holtzmann willingly subjecting herself to punishment and she can take it no more. For the sake of physics, she is going to have to follow Holtz and find out what is inside that bag, lest she combust from the inside out. 

Tuesday night arrives. Erin, prim in her best black turtleneck, waits impatiently for Holtzmann to grab her duffel bag and head out the door. 

 

“Hey Eeeeeerin?” Holtz dances towards her.

“Yeah Holtz?” 

“Is there any particular reason you’ve been turning those sad puppy dog eyes on me all evening?” Holtzmann smirks, dimples flashing. 

“What?! I’m not… no. My eyes… aren’t…” Erin stammers, her heart racing. 

“Mmmmhmmm.” Holtz glances at her suspiciously, eyebrows raised. Erin determinedly stares at her white board where a complex set of equations has been waiting to be solved for days now. 

Moments later, Holtz finally puts down her work and with a calculating look at the physicist who is usually long done for the day by now, she picks up her duffel bag and leaves, ruffling the brunette's hair as she does. 

Erin waits, flustered by the small contact. She listens for the slam of the fire house door, counting slowly in her head, and then scrambles to grab the backpack she has packed, ideal for engineer stalking missions. She runs out of the lab to follow the blonde. 

Holtzmann is thankfully walking down the street, silver duffel bag like a beacon in the night. 

Erin hustles as carefully as possible as the blonde weaves between pedestrians at her usual breakneck pace. After 20 minutes, the blonde joins a group of people entering an apparently abandoned warehouse. Erin pulls out her binoculars and watches as they welcome her, smiling, hugging, joking and more familiar than Erin appreciates. The jocular group enters the warehouse. Erin is so focused on not being jealous that these women have the engineer's attention and clearly affection that she fails to notice a line of people waiting to get in at another entrance until the line winds its way towards her. They jostle her out of her private reverie and she casually enters it, suddenly imagining Holtz in some sort of all-female fight club: An all female – hugging, smiling, fight club. Erin has never seen a more eclectic group of people, from grimy old men in biker jackets to Moms carrying their small daughters in pigtails with homemade t-shirts. 

Eventually, a large man in a cowboy hat opens the garage door to the warehouse allowing the now rowdy crowd into a large open space surrounding what appears to Erin to be a rink. After a couple of minutes, Erin, who can barely see from within the crowd, can see the man from the entrance holding a microphone in the middle of the rink. 

“And now ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting all year for. It’s opening day y’all! The first bout of the season for our girls! First, give a big warm welcome to last year’s champions and our home team: The Gotham City Grinders!” The crowd is seriously losing its shit at this point, stamping on the floor and hollering as a group of women come blazing out in black short-shorts and capes on roller skates, gold lettering emblazoned on the back. Erin, more confused than ever, catches a flash of blonde hair as the women come rolling past, hands outstretched to grasp at those of the crowd who enthusiastically welcome them. 

Erin jockeys for space in the packed crowd trying to get a better view as the announcer introduces a second team – The Jersey Gems, who all wear gem toned shining leotards and makeup as they make a similar trip around what Erin can now see was a rink. 

“Now friends… “the announcer continues “as you all know the lady to watch here in this first jam is the star of last year’s season, our very own ‘Ghost Tits’, let’s give her a warm welcome back.” Erin can feel the floor shaking as she looks up at the woman in question and there in full roller skating glory, is Dr. Jillian Holtzmann, shaking her fists at the crowd who are eating up her every smile, the short cape fluttering behind her reads “Ghost tits” as she skates to her starting line. 

Erin is floored as a whistle blows and then a second and suddenly Holtz is bashing her way through a pack of women, battling her way to the front and racing around the track to do it again, elbows flying and hips swaying in time with her skates. 

Erin is mesmerized as she watches it happen again and again, sometimes Holtzmann sometimes not, watching the scoreboard increase each time Holtzmann is in the jammer seat. She gasps with the crowd, her heart skipping a beat, as Holtzmann goes down from a vicious hip-check, the bruises now perfectly logical. 

An hour later, Erin is biting her nails with the rest of the home-crowd as Holtz takes up her well-practiced stance for the final jam. Erin stops breathing as she watches Holtz fly around the rink, picking up four points for a hard-fought win. Holtzmann, glee written across her features launches herself over the barrier and onto the crowd as they push her up and over, cheering “Ghost Tits! Ghost Tits!” over and over, Erin wholeheartedly joining in. 

Erin can see Holtz’s body floating towards her above the crushing crowd as Holtz looks down into the crowd blazing with happiness. Erin tries to duck out but the crowd pushes her forward as Holtz finds her familiar brown eyes. 

Erin smiles awkwardly and shrugs, trying to ignore the electricity in her stomach as Holtzmann’s prone body is pushed towards her, her shocked blue eyes refusing to break from their focus on Erin’s own. 

Holtzmann forces her way down from the top of the crowd which now forms a protective barrier around their star derby girl. She skates deftly towards Erin, eyes blazing. 

Awkward tension is written into Erin’s every muscle, as Holtz skates towards her in her little bubble, electricity coursing between them. Holtz shows no signs of slowing as she approaches Erin. Before Erin can even think to move, Holtz is slamming into her, crashing their lips together as the crowd erupts. 

Holtzmann pulls back, shocked at her own brazenness, love in her eyes. Erin, breathing hard, heart racing, electricity flowing through her veins, simply grabs the front of her shirt and pulls her back in.

**Author's Note:**

> I wish that I was sorry about this, but I've watched "Whip It" way too many times recently to feel any remorse for a little roller-derby fluff.


End file.
